


Pandora's Box

by rex_who



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Backstory, Jim pre-Sherlock, Love, M/M, Maybe he's just a really good actor?, Murder, Serial Killing, Sheriarty - Freeform, idek, kind of, little bit grisly, little bit of a split personality?, so much murder
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 05:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5573365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rex_who/pseuds/rex_who
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim Moriarty is 19 when he commits his first murder. After that, he becomes a seasoned killer: cold, ruthless, heartless.<br/>This is Jim's story, from his first murder right up until he meets Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Number One

**Author's Note:**

> I can't guarantee it'll be accurate or whatever, but hopefully you'll enjoy it anyway.

Jim sat in a bar. It was a shit bar, with shit music, and shit drinks. But the drinks were strong, and that was just what Jim needed. He needed to wake up tomorrow morning with no recollection of what had happened today. He took a sip of his drink and winced as it burned down his throat. Cheap, nasty stuff.

“Careful there, sunshine.” A big man sat down next to Jim. “That ain’t a carton of apple juice.” Jim laughed weakly and turned away. “Aww, come on,” cooed the man. “Don’t be like that!”

“You don’t even know if I’m gay or not,” said Jim, coolly. The man eyed him up and down, like a piece of meat. “I reckon I could… persuade you,” he said. Jim got shivers down his spine. He didn’t like this at all.

“At least let me buy you a drink,” pushed the man. “What’s your name?” asked Jim. “Powers,” said the man. “Carl Powers.”

“Well, Carl,” said Jim. “I make a habit of not accepting drinks from strange men in bars.” Carl just laughed. “Well, aren’t you a precious ray of sun shine!” He beckoned to the bartender. “Two martinis, please.” Jim groaned internally. _Why would this obtuse man not just leave him be?!_

“Excuse me, I need to use the facilities.” Jim jumped off his stood, swaying as the cheap booze rushed round his brain. He pulled himself together and swaggered off with as much dignity as he could muster. He pushed through the warm mass of bodies all bouncing to the beat and burst into the bathroom, glad of the slightly fresher air. He splashed water onto his face, and started fixing his hair in the dirty mirror. The door swung open.

“Hey, what was that all about?” Carl Powers sauntered in, eyes narrowed. “You just made me look like an idiot in front of the whole bar.”

“Really, I don’t think the whole bar cares that-”

“Shut up, rat boy!” shouted Powers. “I do not like being made an idiot out of. You’re going to pay for that, right now.” He approached Jim, who backed up until his heels hit the wall. Powers towered over him. Jim panicked, patting himself for anything that might be able to help him. His hand fell onto his keys in his pocket, and he pulled them out. “Stop,” he warned. “I will use these.”

Powers laughed. “Do your worst.” Jim closed his eyes and thrust upwards. A warm liquid sprayed onto his face, and he coughed and spluttered. He opened his eyes to find Powers clutching at his throat, with his key wedged deep into the soft flesh. “You bastard!” Powers coughed, staggering across the floor. Jim closed his eyes again and drew his hands over his face.

When at last he dared open his eyes again, the scene in front of him almost made him throw up. There was blood everywhere, and Powers lay motionless at the epicentre of it all, Jim’s key still lodged in his throat.

“Oh my god,” said Jim. “Oh my god.” His whole body was shaking, and his mind was on overdrive. He had to get this cleared up before someone came in here. First things first, the body. Jim picked up the still warm corpse and dragged it into one of the cubicles. He propped it up best he could on the toilet, and locked the door, shimmying underneath. Now the blood. Jim looked round for something to use and spied a sign on the wall.

A MOP IS PROVIDED. PLEASE CLEAN UP ANY ACCIDENTS, INCLUDING VOMIT, FOR SANITARY PURPOSES.

 _Beautiful._ Jim grabbed the mop and mopped harder than he’d ever mopped in his life. Just as he was nearly done, the door swung open. Jim froze. A man stuck his head round the door. “Damn it!” he shouted. “I was hoping for some bathroom sex, dammit!” He was pulled away by someone Jim couldn’t see, and he quickly finished mopping the floor.

“I can’t go back in,” he confirmed with himself. He glanced at the window, and couldn’t help smiling. “Not the first time I’ve had to slip out a window,” he muttered. Using the sink as a boost, he jumped up to the window, and thanking God for his naturally slim build, slid gracefully out the window.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim commits murder number two.

Jim sat in the train station, too tired to go home. “Americano please.” The barista nodded and put her earphones back in. Jim waited for his drink, head nodding. The smell of fresh coffee placed directly in front of him snapped his mind back into action, and he pulled himself together enough to throw some money in the general direction of the barista.

He sank down into a leather sofa, not wanting to make the trek home just yet. It was a long way, and Jim had had a hard day. It was difficult, running round all day without so much of a thank you for his back breaking efforts. He stared into his coffee and contemplated his life choices.

“Excuse me, but do I know you?” asked a friendly voice. “No,” said Jim, without looking up. The sofa sagged beside him. Jim cursed internally before turning his head to see who dared disturb him. A stranger stared back at him with friendly eyes. “Come on, I’m sure I know you from somewhere.”

“Can’t help you,” said Jim curtly. They sat silently for a few minutes before the stranger clicked loudly, making Jim jump at least a foot in the air. “I’ve got it!” he exclaimed. “You were at that bar, the night they found that man in the toilets, the poor bastard.”

“Oh yeah,” said Jim, not really interested. “You were with him, weren’t you?” asked the stranger. “Yes, he approached you. I remember being sat in that awful place, watching him invade your personal space. You really didn’t look interested, and I was about to come over and say something when you walked off. He followed you, and that was the last anyone saw of him all night, until he was found of course.”

“Of course,” said Jim, not really paying attention. “You know, the police wanted to speak to you,” said the stranger quietly. “They think it was you.” Jim froze. “It wasn’t me,” he said sharply. “You have to admit,” said the stranger, “Things don’t look good for you.”

“I didn’t kill him,” Jim repeated, glancing around. The stranger laughed. “Of course not!” he laughed. “Pretty thing like you, I’ll bet you couldn’t kill a fly.” Jim laughed. “You got me,” he said, grinning falsely. The stranger joined in, the sound grating on Jim’s ears.

_He knows. He knows I was there, he knows that I killed Powers. He’s going to have to go._

“What’s your name?” he asked the stranger. “Sam. And you?”

“Jim.” Sam held out his hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Jim.” Jim took his hand. “Oh no, Sam, the pleasure really is all mine.” Sam grinned. “So, Jim, do you have anywhere you need to be tonight?”

“Not at all,” said Jim. “I just need to go somewhere to help forget a hard day at work.”

“I know just the thing,” Sam told him. “Are you game?” Jim nodded coyly. Sam grinned broadly and grabbed Jim by the wrist. “We’re going to have a great time!”

An hour later, Jim stood over Sam’s lifeless body and scanned his surroundings. Empty bottles littered the floor and the formerly pristine white sheets were crumpled and stained with alcohol. Jim was grateful for the fact that Sam had drunk himself into unconsciousness, making his murder a whole lot easier.

Jim was led away from the train station and into a nearby hotel. It was a nice hotel, Jim reflected, well-kept and furnished beautifully, including a mini bar in the corner of each room. It was to the mini bar that Sam had made a beeline after they checked in, helping himself to all sorts of spirits and liquors. Jim had drunk the bare minimum, and in any case, no Englishman can outdrink an Irishman, and Sam was no exception. As he got drunker, his hands started roaming over Jim’s body, but Jim quickly put an end to that by pushing a fresh bottle of Jack in his direction.

“If I didn’t know any better,” slurred Sam, “I’d say you were trying to get me drunk.” Jim just laughed. Eventually, Sam collapsed onto the bed, and Jim carefully took one of the pillows. His hands shook as he placed it over Sam’s nose and mouth, but he made himself hold it still until there was no sign of life coming from the man underneath him.

Jim didn’t sleep that night. Every time he heard a car drive past his flat, he knew it was the police, coming to arrest him, coming to lock him up and throw away the key. He knew that eventually, someone was going to make the link, and it was only a matter of time before his door was kicked down and armed officers frogmarched him into an armoured van straight down to the Old Bailey.

For the first time in his life, Jim Moriarty was afraid.

*

The police did find Jim. They came and found him at work and took him in for questioning. Jim tried his best not to look guilty as they told him that Samuel Trent had been found dead in a hotel room not far from here, and Jim was seen with him shortly before his death.

“Sam’s… dead?” asked Jim, trying to look shocked. The officers seemed to buy it. “We’re sorry,” said a silver haired man. “What was your connection to Mr Trent?”

“We met in the train station earlier that evening,” said Jim. “He approached me; he thought he’d seen me somewhere before. We got talking, and one thing led to another…” Jim trailed off, conjuring a few tears for dramatic effect. “We got into an argument,” he said, wiping away a tear. The officers were eating up his amateur dramatics. “It was something stupid, I can’t remember what, but I walked out.” Jim sniffed sadly. “It’s silly, really, being sad over the death of a man I only met once,” he said. A curly haired woman patted him on the shoulder. “It’s not silly,” she reassured him. “It’s a difficult thing to handle, being the last person to see someone alive.”

Jim was released from the police station without any further questioning. He had the strangest feeling of being lighter somehow, as if he could fly. Yes, the police had found him. Yes, he’d been taken to the station. Yes, he’d just gotten away with murder. Jim almost felt like laughing. He had just gotten away with _murder_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, has Jim actually just gotten away with murder again?  
> Kudos and Comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
